Why Formatting is Unnatural

Yesterday I was walking and couldn’t stop thinking about how much I dislike formatting. Yeah, MLA, APA, all of those triple letter format styles, I don’t like any of them. Must have an intro, body paragraphs, and a conclusion. What if it’s not the end? What if I don’t want to conclude? (Even though I is usually end with some form of a conclusion…) Perhaps it’s the reason why I loved the songs The Weeknd produced in his earlier days so much. They’re long, they’re rule breaking, and he shows real emotion and thought in them. It’s not clean cut and polished. It’s rough around the edges to some, with curse words sprinkled inbetween and drawn out notes that last a life time as you anticipate the next verse. 

I know that I also comply to these rules of what proceeds what and how each thing should be written properly in order for it to be universally acceptable, but I can’t help but feel it constrains some people’s creativity. You could have a very passionate writer with many thoughts and insights draw a blank when deciding what to write because the confines are so limiting. 

Formatting is unnatural. It’s not human. Sure it’s man made, but it’s not a representation of the variety of how the subconscious pours out thoughts. It doesn’t show the inconsistencies in the pace and the perspectives. Sometimes you second guess yourself, sometimes you show a bit of humanity when your thoughts ebb and flow and each word isn’t a polished piece of perfection. There are tangents erased that could have shown you a bit about the writer’s thoughts. 

That’s why I like reading poems and stories, or stream-of-conscious writing. It isn’t written to please the reader, it’s written to get the thoughts out and articulate them before they cease to exist in our fluid memory of the thoughts that run through our minds. When I read it, I can feel the liberation the writer had knowing that the words could finally be on a page to live a new and unencumbered life. This kind of writing gives our subconscious a chance to speak and it’s beautiful. 

How to get views

Recently, the topic of site traffic has been circulating around me. I’m taking a class dealing in social media, and it highlights the importance of the presence you have on your accounts, and the content you share. One day my professor asked “do you think it’s effective to be real with your audience in a blog format?” I shook my head no. I feel that the majority of people who are “real” are the fake “real”, then there are the ranters, and then there are those that post possibly to much “real” content (I fall into the last two categories). I feel that you can be surface level “real” with viewers, stating socially acceptable beliefs, and sharing your likes and dislikes. You can’t however have moments where you’re unpoised and simply write to get it out and feel the emotions. Successful blogs are the ones that have one topic (typically can’t be about your feelings, cause those aren’t consistent with one topic), are the same word count every time, and always have a crafted message that aligns with your intended topic. 

As you all probably can see, this blog of mine isn’t formed around one centralized topic. I view my blog as more of a documentation of my beliefs, experiences, and thoughts over the span of my life so that I can come back periodically and see what I was thinking about or going through a year ago. Perhaps one day I’ll make a blog about one topic in particular. For now I’m comfortable with keeping it as is, anonymous and real. As the world is becoming increasingly disconnected on a deeper level and increasingly connected on a surface level, I don’t feel the need to try to get my content in the circulation with the high profile blogs. 
Now I’m not intending to bash the well crafted messages of blogs that have succeeded, cause I’ll admit that I partially  just don’t have one topic of interest that I’d like to fully exhaust by writing about it. The only consistent things I’ve ever written were books, because obviously I can’t vear off from the main point of my story. 

Though, I have yet to encounter a high profile blog that’s “real” deep in its core, to where you know each and every flaw. The flaws are hidden because we’re scared to show our imperfection. That’s what frustrates me. We live in a world of status updates rather than full time live streaming, and compare our imperfections to the one moment of perfection displayed in a picture or a post. We begin to devalue what we have to offer as a unique individual and become demotivated to be real. 

Fear

I’m sacred that I’ll convince myself once more that I am wholeheartedly over you. I’m afraid I’ll fall into that abyss of denial and will never find my way back to you. I’m quick to guard my heart, which means if you tell me I’m single, I’ll prove it to you. I’ll share the most meaningless exchanges and inject as much meaning as I can for the other person. I’ll gain their affections, hoping their piqued interest will someway invigorate my attraction to them. Currently I’m playing this little game, I already have my first play in motion, and I’m afraid it is working all too easily. You see I’ve never really had trouble in this game, I just chose to never play it, cause it didn’t suit my style. Instead I played the waiting game. I’d observe the players that walked by, and if any looked particularly unique, then I’d prepare to play. They’d take note, and the games would begin. The only reason I ever participated is because when I waited, I had the opportunity to play an entirely different game altogether. I found that when you play with the best, you always have the most fun. I miss playing with the professionals, the rookies aren’t just cutting it. They don’t know how to make my heart skip a beat, or give me those nervous butterflies. Though maybe it is due to the fact that my heart’s just not in the game anymore. My body is, but even it wants to retract and discontinue what I’ve started. I have many options, but you’re the only one I love. 

My Funeral

Today has been an interesting day for me. There haven’t been many ground breaking interactions or events, it is just that a lot has raced through my mind today. Today I feel antsy and energized, one may even call it restless. It isn’t a different feeling for me necessarily, but it is heightened because I made the poor choice of drinking half of an energy drink this evening. One could say I am quite hyped…. I am actually kind of sad too. I am in an odd reflective, energetic mood, so a lot of random thoughts will be voiced throughout this post.

The first thing I would like to start off with is that today I was thinking about my funeral. No, I am not dead yet, nor am I planning it in anticipation, nor am I writing this from the dead. A vision popped into my mind though about how I would like my funeral to be. I want my favorite musician’s (The Weeknd) music to be played throughout the funeral. EVERY SONG HE HAS EVER SUNG. So however long that takes, would be the duration of my funeral. It is not because I want to torment my family and friends with music that I already play constantly, it is simply based on the fact that there is something about his music that feeds my soul. My body reacts to it in such a different way than it does towards other music. It isn’t necessarily the lyrics, but sometimes it is. However, the song I would have played at the end of my funeral would be about just that: the lyrics. It is titled “Angel,” and is by far one of his saddest songs (in my opinion). In this song, he sings the verse “I hope you find somebody to love” many times, and every other utterance eats away at my heart. It is because he doesn’t say that to mean exactly that, he sings it in a mournful way towards what he and the girl he is singing about once shared. This song would be played at the end with the sole purpose of speaking to the guy I love one last time. I want the overall event to be joyous and cathartic, but I definitely feel that every funeral has a sad note to it, and depressingly enough, I would like for mine to end on a sad, reflective note.

Throughout my funeral, while the songs play, I want people to dance, talk, and interact without a care in the world, not worrying about how others are perceiving them for their poor dancing skills. I want my guests to be weird, eccentric, and most importantly, fully immersed in all senses. If someone cries, I want them to not feel any need to hold it in, or be quiet, I don’t want them or anyone else to feel awkward about it. I want it to be a mess of emotions, a fully raw experience, whether they be sad about my death or not. I want it to be an opportunity for them to look at life differently. It wouldn’t necessarily matter that I’m gone, I don’t even care if they shed one tear for me, but I do have one condition. I want people to begin living life differently. No, not change themselves. Live and love like you’re taking your last breath. Dance like everybody is watching and don’t give a rip. Lastly, stop feeling self conscious with new people or any people for that matter. We all are human, we get quiet, stumble on our words, and make fools out of ourselves. So stop letting silly things like self-consciousness get in the way of you living your life. One more thing, stop thinking so hard about being “normal.” Be you and do you, that’s all I ask.

To end this, I would like to bring up one last thing. I am frustrated at the world around me, which is partly why I wrote this post. Right now I feel the urge to contact each and every person I feel like contacting and say exactly what is on my mind (not necessarily the same thing to every person, cause I have different topics flowing through my mind currently) without having to think about what was last said and feel as though I need to “stay on topic” whatever that means… (it means humans are notoriously boring in conversation due to this obsession). I want to know that other people share the sentiment that life is precious and we should start living like every moment is our last. Everything around me is so stagnant, and people are so hesitant, all in efforts to not step on anyone’s toes. Yet there comes a time when you just need to LIVE YOUR FREAKING LIFE. That is all. Goodnight.

 

Write it out

A short thought of mine from a while ago–

If I had to identify one thing that has always been, and will always remain a part of me, it would be that writing/ reading is one of my favorite experiences. There has never been a more expansive and encapsulating mode of communication, than the written word. Now I’m not talking about texting being better than face to face conversations. I mean those times when there are so many thoughts, but none make their way out as well as you’d like. Then you sit down and begin to write and order those thoughts exactly how you wish you would have said them aloud. Or if you’re fortunate, you took your time to think about them before misrepresenting them by speaking too soon.

One of the most amazing aspects of writing, is that it can evoke so many emotions if crafted well. It can bring a reader a sense of love, happiness, joy, enlightenment, sadness, arousal, etc. Some of these may seem negative, but in the end, they all provide a sense of catharsis that is worth the temporary pain.

Trigger Happy

The gun has a mind of its own these days. It urges the question “why not shoot? what are we waiting for?” Because it does not know the specifics of the situation, it only knows that it is loaded and ready. I attempt to silence that recurring discussion because it is missing parts of the story, but truly, what is it missing on its end… It knows its purpose, it sees that the figure’s demise should have been long ago, so why don’t I shoot? Why don’t I end the life of that looming figure for good, why do I continue to let it ruminate in silence, not giving an answer for its presence. It is because the result of shooting the figure and choosing to use the gun’s power is not worth it. The figure provides pain, but it also provides bliss, comfort, satisfaction. It sits in those shadows of my life, drawing me back to the darkness. Though that is also where I feel my most alive, when I am with it. When I take the pleasure with the pain. When I have the markings of my mistakes into the next week to remind me of what I’ve done.

If the gun knew those feelings about the figure, it would question why I ever picked it up in the first place. Why I place it down ever so often, only to oblige the urge to pick it up the very next day with the promise to shoot, only to set it down for the night once again. I know I confuse the gun terribly, but it has never been my intention to shoot, no matter how much I humor the desire, it will never happen. For even though I hate that figure with a passion and cringe at the soul numbing thoughts it brings about, I will never give up on it, though I will never admit that to its face. So I will pick up that gun every so often and wave it in its face, but it should not worry about its life, because it will never cease to exist. If I murdered the figure a part of me would die along with it, and that is simply something I cannot face.

Unfounded Disdain

     You stare contemptuously, letting the hate eat away at what remains of your character. All that lies before you is filthy, ridiculous, and unloveable. Unfortunately, that is an incorrect conclusion. What lies before you is the perfect example of care, humanity, and kindness. All that has been exemplified by that form in front of you is nothing but pure humanity, and you view it with the utmost disgust.

    That’s where we falter. We see all the flaws immediately, sometimes never acknowledging those qualities that embody true perfection, true admirability. It perpetuates a vicious cycle of hate and creates an absence of appreciation. It is one thing to let these negative thoughts and comments silently ruminate in one’s mind, it’s another to continuously voice them aloud to taint the current rapport.

     The most unexpected things occur when one spreads love rather than hate. One receives love back, the world becomes a better place to live in. It’s miraculous to see the results and watch happiness and love spark from every action, setting the world ablaze to create a bonfire of positivity. Soon all the flaws are unique features we’ve never seen. Those actions of ridiculousness, imperfection, lack of attention that causes us to stumble, are the pieces of humanity that spill out of us to signify to others that no one is perfect. While simultaneously discovering that it is this same quality of imperfection that leads one to claim that the one they love is perfect.

That Damn Gun

Day by day, the gun becomes more appealing. Lately I’ve been ready to shoot. I’ve picked it up very infrequently up until now. Though recently, my hand has had it gently grasped, ready to pull that trigger and kill that figure once and for all. I still don’t want to, but the figure keeps getting closer, making threats, stabbing at my heart, coming close to ripping it out. It would be much simpler to just end its existence, because that seems to be what the figure wants these days. At first I thought the figure wanted to simply provoke a reaction to finally be noticed and re-acknowledged, but since then things have changed with the figure. Assisted suicide. That’s what it wants. Or is it? I’m not quite sure…

Alone

Nobody knows. It would take attention. Intuition. A moment of not focusing on oneself. There’s beauty in this world, but there’s also an area of darkness that remains inconspicuous to most. No one notices it within others very often. It’s all internal. It’s all in our heads. Well that’s the most dangerous thing for one’s sanity. For their mental health. For their happiness. To continue going on through life, caring about others, wanting to connect to them, needing to connect to them, but not feeling the same care reciprocated. It’s like you’re that cashier that continuously asks distracted customers how they are, and wishing their ungrateful ass a good day when you finish giving them what they bought. You’re left feeling alone, while standing surrounded in a crowded room. You’re never alone in the literal sense, but you’re always alone in reality. Depth doesn’t seem to exist anymore. Intimacy is a rarity. No one knows how to connect anymore… Actually, that’s not true. No one cares. There is a lack of interest. “Focus on someone but myself? Make someone feel valued? Have genuine interest in someone? Pshh that’s too much work, I’ll just let people treat me like some amazing discovery while I remain indifferent towards them.” 

My Reflection

The other day, I looked in my mirror, and in the reflection, I saw a stranger. She looked at me with wide eyes, begging to be noticed, but I avoided eye contact. She made weird faces, bugging out her eyes, sticking out her tongue, forcing a smile, finally shedding tears in defeat. None of it worked. I looked at her, but not directly at her. I was scared, and she was sad. I had forgotten her in the mirror. Every time I step in front of that mirror, I look right past her. I don’t look, because I don’t recognize her anymore. I’m afraid that if I look too long, it will all become to real. I’ll finally take notice that I’ve heartlessly abandoned her for all these days. The fear that I’ll remember her. Who she was, her vibrancy, her enthusiasm for life, how I felt whole when I saw her in the mirror and could tell you her name. Every second she’s trapped in that mirror, I hear her cry. It’s quiet in efforts to not disturb anyone, yet I hear it all the time and it keeps me awake at night. She knows I hear her. I feel her presence beside me wherever I go. She and I used to be one, but now we’re two entirely different entities. She’s drowning in her tears, and I’m numb. She screams at me, in order to bring me back to reality. She makes a mess in every area of my life in order for me to see the destruction to bring me back, to make me aware. Yet I’ve lost all touch with reality. She knows that. That’s why she continues this seemingly pointless effort. 

She’s the only one who knows, and she’s the only one who can bring me back.